Leap
by Alternatively
Summary: If that kiss never happened... an alternative Ron-and-Hermione get together, with side of depression-y gloom and lashings of optimism.


The dawn light painted the landscape far below with soft colour, pulling the forbidden forest, and the lake and lawns, and the greenhouses out of grey and into gentle pastel shades. He stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower and leaned into the breeze, still cold, though the year was nearly over, and summer was creeping into everything. The chill was an old friend now.

It had been a full year, and they were done, finished with exams, and staring into the bleak empty future, with no quest, and no idea what to do next. The threat of freedom. It curdled his insides and left a hard, dead stone of panic in his stomach.

It had taken him the better part of the year to work out that it wasn't grief that was pulling him down, dragging him into a murky mire in which death seemed to be the best and only option. The damage was done. His mind was written that way now, plunging straight into self-doubt and self-loathing, repeating morbid mantras every time anything happened to shake him from his fragile sense of balance.

He stepped up onto the parapet, throwing his arms wide into the wind, face turned into the light of the rising sun, the glory of early morning flooding through him-

" _Stop!"_

He jolted with surprise, and steadied himself, bent over with one hand on the top of the crenellation.

"Hemione? What are you doing up here?"

" _Me?_ What am I- _Ron, come down at once!"_

She seemed really mad. Her hair was a fierce snarl, and her face was white and set. She was still in her pijamas, hands fisted in the cuffs of the _Advanced Arithmancy_ jumper Ginny had given her for Christmas.

If she hadn't been so cross, she would have looked… cuddly.

He stepped down.

"What's wrong?"

" _What's wrong?!_ I thought you were _grieving!_ I thought you were, _maybe,_ at the very worst, a bit _depressed._ I didn't think that you would be- that you would-" Her eyes were suddenly brimming with tears, and the realisation hit him.

"I forget sometimes, that you're muggleborn," he said, stepping away from the edge and wondering if he should hug her.

" _What's that go to do with_ -" she cut herself off, angrily wiping away tears. "You need _help_!"

"Dunno. Think I'm handling it pretty well," he said, running a hand through his hair out of sheer awkwardness. "Look, I'm not trying to kill myself, if that's what you think,"

She stared at him, breathing shallow, hands shaking.

He felt like a perfect beast.

A total bastard.

He made her feel bad.

He was an awful, pitiful, horrible, _worthless_ waste of space.

He probably _should_ be-

He gave himself a firm mental slap.

 _Don't fall for that bullshit! You're better than that!_

 _No, I'm not, I've nearly slipped heaps of times, I'm weak, I'm really just-_

 _Shut the fuck up! I've got your number, you slimy scarry bastards!_

"The opposite, actually,"

She blinked at him.

"When you've stopped freaking out, you'll remember there's buffer zone at the bottom. You jump, you freefall down the first seven floors, and then you hit the buffer zone and it slows you down until you come to a gentle stop just above ground level. I'm not trying to kill myself. It's just… you know… a bit of adrenalin before breakfast…" He trailed off, realising she was still panicked, and he was going to have to tell her the truth.

 _Damn._

He sighed and pulled his jumper and shirt off over his head. That way he'd _have_ to tell her.

No weaselling out of it.

She blinked rapidly, like it was hard for her to look at him shirtless- or maybe she was just blinking tears out of her eyes.

"Your scars…"

He shrugged, feeling peculiarly naked now.

"Pomfrey said thoughts leave the deepest scars…" He felt sheepish and odd to be talking about it.

"I don't understand…" she stepped closer, raising a hand to trace the angry red lines chasing across his arms and chest, fingertips close but not touching. She looked… mesmerised. Puzzled. Hurt.

He shrugged again, feeling uncomfortable.

"I'm not exactly the most confident person," he mumbled, feeling increasingly stupid. "And I thought it was just _me_ , like I was just weaker than you and Harry,"

"What?"

"With the horcrux. It always got to me more than you and Harry, and I thought it was just that I was weak-"

"More that you insisted on wearing it the longest-"

"Yeah well, turns out maybe it's more complicated than that. Watch."

He let himself slip down those well-trodden paths. Self-loathing, misery, death drive. Pulled himself out of it firmly when she gave a sharp little gasp.

"What did you _do?"_

It was excruciating. Having to _talk_ about it.

"Just… thought things. Bad things. It's like, the more I think them, the worse the scars get, and the harder it is for me not to think those things,"

She looked devastated. Appalled. And then- puzzled?

She traced a finger along the faintest line of all.

"What's this one?"

He grinned. He couldn't help it. She had quite literally put her finger on it. The key to the whole damn puzzle.

"Took me ages to work that one out. Only flared up once, over Christmas. I ate so much I had to loosen my pants, and I suddenly got paranoid that I was going to balloon up. Whoever's brain that was, they thought they were fat and felt bad about it. Seeing as I'm a string bean, and I know it, that one doesn't really bother me much."

The sun was casting her hair into bronze squiggles in the breeze, and her worried eyes seemed more amber than brown… the chill on his skin gave him gooseflesh, and she was looking like she was going to ask him a bunch of difficult questions, so he pulled his shirt and jumper back on, buying himself some time, and hiding the evidence away. If she started asking about each specific line, and what thoughts they correlated to, he'd have to tell her the truth or lie, and he wasn't comfortable with either option.

This way, he could be vague.

Plus, she'd just run a fingertip across his chest, and that was all extremely confusing.

Or rather, it wasn't confusing at all, but he really didn't need that on his mind as well.

He tipped his head towards the wall.

"Wanna try? It's safe, I promise. Been doing this for months."

She blinked at him.

"Don't dodge the issue. Why have you been jumping off the Astronomy tower… for… months…?"

He shrugged again. It was all so uncomfortable to be talking about it.

"Same reason I go flying. Remind myself it's good to be alive."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve with an air of finality.

"You're not trying to kill yourself."

"No."

"Promise?"

"Yes. There's been quite enough of that lately."

She gave a weak laugh.

Fair.

It wasn't that funny.

"Ok."

It was one of those strange silences again. Those moments when they said nothing, and things got stilted and peculiar, and he was hyperaware of being stupidly tall, and painfully awkward… and at the same time it was kind of nice. Because it was just them. Together.

It would be warm today. Even now, with the day just begun, he could feel a little heat on his back, despite the chilly breeze. After lunch they'd go down by the lake, and flop on the grass, and tease Harry about his post-exam paranoia… they had it too, but teasing Harry took the power out of that fear, the fear that maybe it would happen again, that somehow they hadn't really succeeded…

And Ginny would drag Harry into the lake for a swim, and Hermione would have a pile of books, as usual, and he'd pester her, and clown around, and he'd wait… just hoping to see that little wistful smile, hoping to provoke her into retaliating, and pelting him with things from the beaded bag- she still carried it everywhere, just in case- or, like last week, tickling him with the end of a spare quill, the back of his neck, his ear… he'd thought at first there were bugs… and her gurgle of delighted laughter when he'd caught the quill and realised…

"Come with me,"

"What?"

"It's safe, I promise. You can hold on to me if you like. Keep your wand out. Cast if you get panicky," He wasn't sure he could explain why he wanted to share this with her. The rush of falling. The calm. The sense of safety as the spell at the bottom caught, gradually slowing until your feet brushed the ground.

He wanted to hold her and jump, share with her the feeling of _knowing in advance_ that it was going to be ok.

Also, now she wasn't in a rage, she really did look cuddly.

She was gazing up at him, and gazing out at the brightening morning, and she looked conflicted, like she half wanted to say yes, but her fear of heights, or maybe her dislike of rule breaking was holding her back.

"You don't have to," he said lightly, "You can if you want, that's all,"

Her eyes were scouring his face now, and he knew she was going to agree against her better judgment.

"Alright," she pulled her wand out, "But if anyone wanted to kill you, you realise that this would be an easy way to do it. And it would look like suicide,"

He grinned.

"Given the magic's crazy complicated, there are probably only a handful of people who _could_ undo it, so unless _you_ want me dead, I think that's unlikely. Besides. I always take my wand, and I know when the slowing is supposed to kick in. There's plenty of time to cast."

He held out a hand and she took it, throwing him a suspicious look, and curling the fingers of her other hand around her wand tightly. She took a nervous breath. The closer they got to the edge, the more anxiety rolled off her… she really _was_ scared of heights… and it gave him a confusingly smug feeling, because she _trusted_ him-

"Wait!"

He took his foot back off the parapet.

"It's ok, you don't have to-"

"No, it's not that," she shook her head impatiently, "This is ridiculous. You just asked me to _jump off the Astronomy Tower with you,"_

"Er… yeah?"

"And I _agreed._ "

"So?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"I hate heights. I hate adrenalin; it makes me queasy. And apparently I'm about to _literally jump off the Astronomy Tower with you."_

"Huh? What-"

She interrupted him with an annoyed sound.

"If you want to know how I feel about you, you could just _ask,"_ she said, irritable, "Because the answer is yes, _which_ , if you'd been paying attention, you would've worked out already,"

"What?"

"Oh, _come on,_ this is getting exhausting." She looked cross again. But cross and bossy, not angry and scared.

"So… you don't want to try it?" He had a slightly giddy feeling that maybe he knew what she was getting at.

But that was… far more terrifying than jumping off the Astronomy Tower.

"Why don't _you_ try it?" she demanded, " _Metaphorically_ , and just _ask me out?"_

He blinked at her. She'd worked herself into quite a tantrum to release those words into the morning light. Her hands were shaking again.

He grinned.

"Nah, don't need to…"

She looked ready to strangle him.

He shouldn't find it funny, really he shouldn't.

But he was floating, soaring…

"…you already said 'yes'…"

She made an indignant noise at him, and he felt like he was inflating with optimism.

"You're a right _prat_ sometimes,"

"Yeah, I know. But you still said 'yes',"

Her scowl softened.

"Yes, I did,"

And she was blushing, couldn't quite meet his eyes, and she looked golden now, gilt by the sunlight.

"Oi,"

She glanced up at him.

"I love you, you obnoxious know-it-all,"

She was really blushing now, biting her lip, and radiating delight.

If only he'd known sooner, that he could provoke _that_ expression, make her look… ecstatic…

"Come on then," she said, stepping up onto the parapet, clinging to his hand tightly. "Are we doing this or what?"

"Eh? I thought you said-"

"I know, I know, but I can't just go down and meet you at the bottom, can I? That would be stupidly anti-climactic,"

She couldn't stop smiling. She was trying to. Kept pressing her lips together and turning away, like she wasn't quite ready for him to know how happy she was.

He felt a rush of fierce affection.

"Hold on to me, then,"

She nodded, and wrapped her arms around his neck, and as he stepped up onto the ledge, lifting her as he went, she gave a funny squeak and wrapped her legs around his middle.

"I love you too," she whispered breathily in his ear.

He grinned.

"I know," he said, suddenly absolutely certain, "And you're about to jump of the Astronomy Tower with me,"

And he leapt off, into the golden morning, her hair in his face, arms and legs wrapped around him vice-like, and the thrill of freefalling pulling a shout of laughter from his chest, and a peal of surprised laughter from her, and they were plunging through the morning, rushing past ancient stone and leaded windows, dropping past gargoyles and decorative edgings, plummeting through the air, free, free and falling….

As they slipped into the buffer zone, slowing and slowing, her grip loosened and she pulled away a little to look at him, grinning, delighted, her hair floating round her in a cloud, and it was all so obvious that he kissed her, a rush of heat melting through him as she wound her fingers through his hair…

He wasn't quite sure how long he'd been standing, feet on the ground, and he knew she hadn't noticed at all, because she said so, unwrapping her legs and sliding down his front, leaning shakily on him.

He knew that the effects of the jump, and the knowledge that she loved him would have faded the scars, keeping him safe for a little while, keeping him buoyed up and out of the gloom.

But he could never _use her_ to keep the demons at bay. That wasn't right. And it wouldn't work, either. Knowing _she_ thought he was worthwhile didn't automatically mean _he_ believed it.

He would have to _do_ something.

"Tell me again," he said, slightly breathless, as she laughed up at him, giddy from the fall.

"I love you!"

He grinned.

"Not that- about the other thing,"

Her brows furrowed.

"What other thing?"

"McGonagall,"

"Oh," she beamed at him, "You'll talk to her?"

He felt sheepish all over again.

"If you really think I'm good enough…"

" _Ron!_ You _said yourself_ there's only a handful of people who could do that magic! You are _definitely_ good enough-"

"It's really expensive-"

"-and you're going to get a _scholarship_ and in the highly unlikely event that you _don't_ , Harry _wants_ to pay for it. Besides, I think you actually _do_ want to be an architect! You _loved_ rebuilding,"

He did.

He really did.

Helping rebuild the castle, doing the calculations, factoring in all the possibilities… what _fun._ It had been… like chess, but _sooo_ much better.

And he could do that for a _job_ if he wanted, if he got in…

He felt a spike of panic.

Fear.

"Yeah," he said, pulling her into a hug, "After breakfast, I'll talk to McGonagall."

She gave a squeak of delight.

As they made their way back inside, holding hands and walking across the dew-wet grass, the panic grew, flapping like a multi-winged monster in the pit of his stomach.

She squeezed his hand and gave him a knowing look.

She could probably feel him shaking, pulse racing, fear…

"If I can jump off the Astronomy Tower," she said, smirking at him, "You can talk to your favourite teacher."

"Ah, yes, but I'm _much_ more of a coward," he said, fighting off the panicky belief that somehow, in the face of all the evidence to the contrary, McGonagall hoot with laughter and tell him he was delusional.

He had to do it now.

"Help?"

"What?" she looked startled.

"I'm losing my nerve. Would you- help me find her? Now? Before breakfast, before…" He let go of her hand and pulled up his sleeve, so she could see the red snaking back through the twisted scar.

"Oh. Yes, of course."

And she grabbed his hand again and broke into a run, dragging him, loping in a half-jog beside her across the lawn and up the steps.

"Woah, Hermione!"

"What?" She laughed down at him, a few steps higher.

"We don't have to run,"

"Yes, we do; I _refuse_ to waste any more time," She put her hands on his face and kissed him again, reverting straight back to dragging him up the steps, this time by the front of his jumper.

"Didn't make you queasy, huh?"

"You could say that,"

She seemed… so… happy.

He felt a bolt of guilt. As though he was solely responsible for their muddled up friendship. But…

"Why didn't _you_ say anything?"

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes alight.

"I thought you were in a big tangled mess of grief. Felt rude to interrupt,"

"So you _knew…?"_

She quirked an eyebrow at him, grinning.

"Don't I always?"

"You- _arrgh_! You- insufferable-"

"Hurry up! We have to catch her before she comes down to breakfast…"

Shouts and laughter echoed through the halls, morning light dancing dust motes and filling the old castle with hope. She was chuckling and out of breath when they got to the new statue that marked the entrance to the Headmistress's office, the phoenix, wrought in gold and precious stones. Made especially, one of the items on loan from the goblins in exchange for wands and wand lore, the phoenix glittered in the morning light, part of the first phase of negotiations, the intercultural peace treaty that would hopefully change the world, or at the very least, Britain.

"What now? Is there a password?"

He couldn't be certain, but he thought the phoenix was giving him a dry, sarcastic look.

Hermione shook her head and pointed.

On the wall, a button.

 _Ring the bell._

He let out a bark of laughter.

"Is _that_ what she had dad here for? I thought mum had sent him to check up on me and Ginny,"

Hermione shrugged.

"She did. Stop stalling and press the damn button," She put her arms around him and dragged him over to it.

"Alright, alright!" Her enthusiasm was still surprising him. She was so… excited. Smiling. _Beaming._

She didn't think it was stupid, for him to think about applying for…

He was about to press the button, when the wall in front of him made a grating sound, stone on stone, and opened, revealing Professor McGonagall, crisp and serious, looking over her glasses at him.

"Uh…"

"Ron's come to talk about career options, specifically architecture," Hermione burbled, happily, "And he also has some questions about the scars on his arms; don't let him weasel out of telling you about those. I'll pop down to the kitchens and get you both some breakfast, shall I? The Elves know what you like, I'm sure," and she was dancing away, backwards down the corridor.

McGonagall looked distinctly amused.

"Well, Mister Weasley, I suppose you'd better come in and tell me what is so important it can't wait until after breakfast,"

An answer, a ridiculous, flippant answer bounced into his mind.

 _Life._

His stomach flapped with panic and possibility. With one last look down the corridor, at Hermione's wildly bouncing hair and skipping step, he turned and ducked his head to stoop through the doorway.

He had a strange feeling, walking into this airy tartan-and-spartan space… it was like another piece clicked into position in his mind.

Like the magic at the base of the tower.

It didn't matter what happened next.

He could jump.

He was safe.

They'd make sure of it.


End file.
